


mellow

by qar



Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [15]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Family Dynamics, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Moving In Together, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, because DADZA, it's cute i tore up writing it, not much at all!!! it's mostly adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: Tommy and Tubbo move in together. They've grown up, and they're home.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961299
Comments: 61
Kudos: 1069





	mellow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [like_theletter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/like_theletter/gifts).



> i asked L what they'd like to see a fanfiction of. they said tommy and tubbo moving in together. and i said oh boysies guess what i was thinking of ten minutes ago

It’s so hard to believe, even now, sitting in what’s supposed to be the living room surrounded by boxes.

“It didn’t seem real yesterday,” Tubbo says out loud, leaning back. He’s on the carpeted floor, cross-legged, waiting for Tommy to finish paying the moving guys downstairs so they can unpack the essentials. “It still doesn’t.”

His words echo across the room. They really need to assemble the furniture.

It's surreal. It’s more than surreal. Moving in with Tommy had always been the plan, ever since they were sixteen; young and full of hope for the future. And it’d finally happened. They’ve moved to Brighton together. Everything’s theirs.

Everything’s theirs. The beige carpeting, the painted walls; Tommy’d wanted to make some truly abhorrent paint decisions before Tubbo’d stopped him. The flood of boxes. The gorgeous view from the windows. Everything’s theirs.

Tubbo hears Tommy approaching before he sees him. The loud stomping up the stairs is only violent enough to be his best friend; Tubbo shifts to face their front door as it's thrown open. Tommy stumbles into the room; now twenty, still as tall and lanky as ever. He’s holding one last box in his arms.

A grin spreads across Tubbo’s face as the younger boy shifts his weight, carefully depositing the box onto another and whooping. “That’s all!” Tommy crows. “We’re in! We’ve moved!”

Tubbo laughs, waiting for Tommy to make his way over and drop down next to him. Far too many boxes are almost knocked over. He’s pretty sure his facial expressions shift like fifty times in the span of a minute. “This doesn’t feel real,” he repeats. “We’re here. We moved.”

Tommy grins at him, full and bright, laying back against the floor. “We’re in Brighton,” he says. “British Team Ten. Hype House. Oh my god, they died so long ago.”

“We’re so _old,”_ Tubbo says. “We watched the Hype House die, Tommy.”

“We’re _twenty,”_ Tommy says. “Remember when we first talked about this? We were sixteen. I was like- fifteen.”

Tommy turns to face him. Tubbo leans back on his elbows. “No, no, we were both sixteen,” he says. “God, it seemed so crazy then, didn’t it?”

“I hate to break it to you, but it seems plenty crazy now,” Tommy says. “We’re in Brighton. I can bother old man Wilbur whenever- oooh, I can get _so_ many women.”

Tubbo laughs. “Not this schtick again.”

“I’ll bring women home every night. Bet you’ll regret living with me then, asshole.”

He’s still grinning. “I’m all packed up, Tommy, don’t try me. You’re not even looking for a relationship, dumbass.”

“I’ll look for a relationship out of spite. Rage marriage.” Tommy’s face crumbles in some odd, happy manner. “Rage marriage, man. That was four years ago.”

“Feeling nostalgic today, huh?” Tubbo asks. He sits up, slowly. They should unpack. But it’s so nice to just… sit here. Talk about shit.

“Not everyday that you move in with your best friend,” Tommy says. “Man. Four years and I’m still not as old as Wilbur.”

Tubbo laughs, pulling himself up reluctantly. “I don’t think you understand how age works,” he says. “Will’s coming over tomorrow.. Has some gifts ‘n shit.”

“Oh boy,” Tommy says. He reaches a hand out. Tubbo grabs it and pulls him up, steadying them both when they nearly topple into a precarious tower of cardboard. “We… we should get unpacking.”

“We should,” Tubbo says. He’s giddy, almost, high off happiness. They’re here. It’s real. Tommy’s arm is warm under his hand; he’s breathing, alive. Here.

He yanks Tommy into a hug, the blond leaning down to meet him, arms wrapping around Tubbo’s neck. “This is so insane,” he says, chin digging into his hair. 

“Proper surreal,” Tubbo says. “I can’t believe you almost painted your room red.” Tommy’s shirt, in true Tommy fashion, is red. He’s grown something akin to a fashion sense over the years, though, after being constantly bullied by Wilbur for his lack of one. He’s wearing a bomber jacket and jeans that’re somehow long enough to fit. His sneakers are white. He’s here. He’s real. This is real.

“You’re cramping my style,” Tommy says. He steps on Tubbo’s toe. Tubbo stomps on his. “Red’s fashionable.”

“You say that like you care about fashion, you bitch,” Tubbo says, letting go of Tommy. “I’d have kicked you out.”

“I do pay half the rent, y’know,” Tommy says. He’s flushed, the way he got when something exciting was happening. His eyes start scanning the boxes around them, looking for the one they’d labelled ‘essentials’.

“I’m sure I could pay it alone,” Tubbo counters. “You forget that we’re both rich.” He finds the box. It’s under ‘cutlery’- all brand new stuff they’d bought from Ikea a while back. He shoves Tommy towards it. “Unpack that. Then kitchen stuff, then bedding and shit. I’m ordering pizza.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Tommy deadpans. 

They sleep on the floor that day. It’s not like they don’t have beds; they’d set them up a week before moving in, staying at Wilbur’s while they set them up and got the rest of the new furniture delivered. 

But the two of them’ve spent all day unpacking, getting the basics unpacked; they have a full kitchen now, with an island and everything, and working Wi-Fi, and the bathrooms are stocked up nicely. But there’s furniture to build, and boxes to open and sort through. There’s so much to do. 

Tubbo doesn’t complain when Tommy up and hauls his comforter over to the living room, where they’d sat earlier, spreading it out as though they were having a picnic and opening YouTube on his laptop. On the contrary, he waits for the pizza to arrive- Dominos, because _some of them_ had no taste buds. The sun sets late, rays of golden streaming through the windows of their apartment. They’d have to get the curtains up soon.

The pizza’s pepperoni. Tubbo pays for it in cash, digging through his wallet awkwardly. It’s filled to the brim with receipts for things the two of them’d bought for the apartment. They should organise them, probably. 

Tommy’s waiting for him, stretched out like a lazy cat. “Took you a minute,” he says. Techno’s old videos on the potato wars are open. “Nostalgia time, huh?”

“You’re going all out,” Tubbo says, dropping the box with a thud. Tommy leans over and drags it towards himself. “Don’t eat it all, prick.”

They fall asleep halfway through the last video. 

Wilbur arrives early the next day. Tommy greets him by throwing himself at the man while Tubbo waits at the doorway. “Hey, Tubbo,” the oldest man says, arms full of blond young adult. Tubbo salutes at him.

“This is a nice apartment,” Wilbur says, sitting on a box and watching the two twenty-year-olds wrestle with a coffee table. “I’m proud of you both. No Doom Shack.”

Tommy flushes. Tubbo laughs. “The Doom Shack’s a selling point,” he says.

“I’ve gotten quite attached,” Wilbur says. “Tommy, you're screwing that wrong, it’s _righty-tighty lefty-loosey,_ not the other way round.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy mumbles, a screw precariously bitten between his teeth. “Old man. Come do it yourself.”

“I’m twenty-eight, not _old,”_ Wilbur grumbles, but he stands and makes his way over. “Move.”

Tommy moves, starting for another piece of the coffee table as Wilbur drops to his knees and screws it in. Tubbo’s started to work on the half assembled sofa. 

They have a surprising amount of furniture constructed by noon. Wilbur's bought presents- a coffee machine that Tubbo'd been talking about and Tommy had been scorning, and an air-fryer because god knows neither of them could fry shit without burning their brand new apartment down.

"I was gonna buy some more fun shit," Wilbur says. "But then I remembered that you're still immature dumbasses at the end of the day and that appliances would definitely be better."

"Coffee is gross," Tommy grumbles, but wraps around Wilbur once again. 

"You're clingy," Tubbo says. "Thanks for the gifts, Will."

"Anytime," Wilbur says. "Phil's coming over tomorrow. He's staying with me but he wan't to help you guys finish setting up."

Tubbo giggles. "If we pull a Techno and don't open the boxes for another year-"

"I will _kill_ you," Wilbur promises. "That man, I swear."

"Wish he'd come over from grand ol' Murica sometime," Tommy says. "It's been like- a year."

Wilbur looks away sheepishly. Tubbo's eyes widen.

“I don’t understand curtains,” Tommy complains. “They’re such bitches.” He’s sat up on a ladder, legs dangling, as Tubbo helps him thread the heavy fabric through the golden rods. 

“What’d curtains ever do to you?” Tubbo asks. Tommy almost tips over. He reaches up to steady the ladder.

“Exist,” Tommy replies. “Give me privacy. It’s not like we have much privacy to begin with. Gross.”

“Well,” Tubbo counters, slowly, as Tommy stands and starts to slot the rod into place. “It’s not your choice to have over ten million subs. But you’re here, putting up the curtains.”

“That’s because we live together,” Tommy says. “If I was living alone, now, I’d have no curtains.”

“You are _so_ gross,” Tubbo says, kicking the ladder. Tommy yelps and scrambles down. The rod hits Tubbo on the head. “I deserved that.” 

“You did,” Tommy says. The doorbell rings. "Wait- wait, I got it."

He runs for the doorway, socks sliding across the hardwood of the hallway. Tubbo's right on his heels as he throws open the door to reveal Philza Minecraft. 

"Tommy! Tubbo!" Phil exclaims, allowing Tommy to scramble into his arms and pulling Tubbo into the hug. He melts into the embrace. Tommy sighs next to him. 

"Hi, Dadza," Tommy says, dragging out the _dadza_. "Been A While."

Phil's arms tighten around them. "It has," he says. "Wilbur's coming in a bit."

"God, you all are so old now," Tubbo says. "Phil, man, you're almost on your deathbed."

"I'm fucking thirty-six- Tubbo, when do you think people are on their deathbeds?"

Tubbo shrugs, Phil's arms loosening around them both. He looks up at both of them; Tubbo hasn't grown much in the height department, honestly, and Tommy's always been too tall for his age. They've grown up, though; Tommy's grown into his gangly features, and the softness of Tubbo's face has eased. They're adults now.

"You're both so big now," Phil says, ignoring the fact that he sounds like a parent fawning over his children he hasn't seen for a day. "I remember you two being sixteen like it was yesterday. Tommy, you were such a bitch when you were fifteen."

"That's really rude," Tommy says. His eyes are only a little watery. Tubbo politely ignores the fact. "I was a wonderful child."

"You threatened to kill me five times a day." Tubbo chokes on a laugh.

Tommy grins. "I'll keep doing it," he says. "C'mon in. You haven't even seen the apartment."

"Does my presence mean nothing to you?" A voice says from behind Phil. Tommy turns, slowly, to meet Tubbo's eyes. A grin spreads over both their faces. "Is my dramatic entrance worthless to you two?"

"Ooooooh," Tommy says lowly. Phil steps to the side. "Ooooooooooooh."

"Oh god," Technoblade says. "Oh no."

"Oooooooooooooh," Tommy repeats. " _Technoblade_."

The man himself appears, pulling himself and a box out of the elevator. He freezes upon seeing Tommy’s predatory grin and Tubbo’s head in his hands. “Oh god,” he repeats.

“ _Technoblade_ ,” Tommy repeats, low, droning. “ _Hello_. Welcome to our apartment.”

“Hello, Theseus,” Techno says, and then he’s tackled fully to the ground by Tommy, letting out a very loud oomph as the air is knocked out of his lungs. “Jesus!”

“Don’t fucking Theseus me, that was four years ago,” Tommy says, muffled by Techno’s jacket. “You fucking asshole! You didn’t tell us you were coming!”

Tubbo joins their pile on the ground. Tommy immediately shifts to drape himself over him as well. “I kinda guessed. Wilbur is the most suspicious person I know.”

“He’s a drama kid, he’s supposed to be suspicious,” Techno grumbles, attempting to sit up with two young adults on his legs. “And that’s the _point_ of a surprise, Tommy.”

“Ugh,” Tommy says, burying his face into Techno’s shirt, shoulders starting to shake. Tubbo laughs at the man’s alarmed expression, pulling his legs off of Techno’s and standing up to go meet Phil. 

“You’re dealing with that,” he calls over his shoulder. “Come in once he’s finished.”

Techno looks bewildered, hands coming up to cradle Tommy’s head. “W- What am I supposed to do here?”

“Figure it out,” Tubbo says.

“Things move so fast,” Tubbo says.

He’s kneading dough for the biscuits Phil’s insisted on for their First Official Dinner in the apartment. “It’s like- yesterday we met. He raided me. And then we became best friends. And then we talked about moving in, and now we’re here.” He sighs. “Time really is a social construct.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” Phil says. “You only start to realise that when you start getting older. Time moves so fucking fast." The man spills a can of mushrooms onto a cutting board. "Like, it's been two weeks since we came over."

"That's insane," Tubbo says. "It's felt like a day."

"Time's a social construct," Phil repeats. "And anyway. It's been an exciting week, huh?"

It has, Tubbo decides. A shout comes from the living room where Tommy, Wilbur and are playing Mario Kart- they’d volunteered to help, but all of them were essentially disasters in the kitchen. Phil’d shooed them away with urgency.

It’s his and Tommy’s home. The others will be leaving soon; and it’ll just be him and his best friend against the world. It’s their house, with it’s sage-colored walls and already-messy rooms. Their setups are complete; they're going to start streaming again very very soon. 

They've grown up. It's still surreal, even though they've been living here for almost a month. Childhood dreams he'd thought would always remain dreams are coming true. They've grown up.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i did tear up writing this. just a little. it's not even SAD why am i CRYING
> 
> leave a kudo, comment or bookmark if you enjoyed :) stay safe <3
> 
> tumblr: noorahqar  
> discord: https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm (copy paste into a browser)


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